Weakness is Strength
by pumkkin
Summary: It's the 71st Hunger Games, and guess who's chosen from District 7. A weakling, who everyone looks over until the last moment, when she tears their hearts out. Please R&R I like constructive criticism :D Rated T for swearing
1. Chapter 1

When I wake up, it's with a start, because it's the day of the reaping. I'm sweating a bit, I think I was having a nightmare, but I tell myself to stop being so stupid and get my ass out of bed. I roll off the futon and push myself up, the covers falling off me into a heap on the floor. Across the room, dad's snoring his damn head off, sleeping off last night's binge. I sigh, and place my hands on my naked hips, contemplating whether to leave him or kick him awake. I decide to leave him. If I get picked, I don't want him seeing.

I look at the sun in the sky from the window, and the people already heading off in their dresses and smart trousers, and growl from the pit of my stomach. I've never been one for getting up early, but this is ridiculous, it's almost noon. I pull on the thin leather trousers I've had for years, strong boots and remember I have to wear a shirt. I grab a dark green tunic and head out the door pulling the sleeve on, and mingle with the crowd. The line for the seventeen year olds is already filing out of the square, and I groan. They make us stay in pens for over an hour like pigs, snatch one of us from loving parents to kill or be killed and make it all out to be some big show, but the thing I hate the most is the waiting in line. I ruffle my hair, what's left of it, sigh loudly, and start tapping my foot. The girl in front of me in a pink dress sneaks a peak behind her, I catch her eye and give her a stony stare, and she instantly whips her head back to the front. I smirk silently. She probably remembers me from school, before I quit and went to work on the yard, and I was a bitch then and I'm a bitch now.

Finally after what seem like hours waiting I'm at the front of the line. I don't even wince when I get my finger pricked, like all the others did. They press my finger against the paper and confirm my identity. I could have told them that, but the peacekeepers don't trust anyone. I make my way over to the pen where they hold the seventeen year olds, and hang at the back. I check the clock that's portrayed on the big television screen. Its two minutes to noon. The reaping will begin shortly. I check behind me at the lines, the last couple of kids being let through, kissing their parents goodbye, though they'll never be chosen. Some of them are even crying, urg.

Finally the anthem plays, and the capitol seal comes on the big screen. Then there he is, Juno Jeno, out representative. He looks so stupid up there, all bright orange suit, white spiked hair with little pink bits on the end, compared to our muted forest colours. He's had some sort of surgery to make all of his eyes black, and I hear he's had something done to his shlong, though I'm not sure what, the girls around the lumber yard tell different stories. He starts talking in that stupid capitol accent, and I stifle a groan, but not well enough.

"Citizens of District 7, welcome to the 71st Annual Hunger games! May the odds be ever in your favour!" A few people wary of the peacekeepers guns clap, but not very loudly and not for very long.

"Well now then boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen, shall we get started? As per usual, girls first. Who's going to be the lucky contestant to represent your district. It could be you," he points to a snivelling girl in the front "Or, you or you. Well let's find out shall we?"

Juno puts his white gloved hand into the big glass bowl that has all of the girl's names in District 7 on neatly folded slips of paper. I try and do the math and count how many times my name is in there, but I was never good at math at school and left before we got onto multiples, so my head gets muddled and I don't even hear the name getting called out. But when I look up from my fingers everyone's staring at me with eyes the size of tractor wheels. I look at them, raising my eyebrows and frowning. It would take a genius not to figure out it me.


	2. Chapter 2

"Me?" The words come out without me even realising, and the shock hits me like a tree just fell on my head. I cry. For the first time in years warm salty water drips down my face and onto my outstretched fingers, still trying to do the math of the chance of me getting picked. 100%.

When I don't move for a moment, the peacekeepers come and drag me up on stage. I let them drag me, because now I've opened the floodgates I can't stop them. The thoughts come to me, I'm going to die, my mother and brother dying and their bodies so burnt to a crisp they were only recognisable by the axes they were holding, the community home, dad getting drunk so often he could barely remember his own name.

They shove me on a chair and I bawl uncontrollably, gripping my knees and digging my nails in to try and stop the mental pain with a physical one.

"Let's have a big hand for Johanna Mason everybody!"

Above my raking sobs I hear the awkward, scared clapping, and a couple of people going 'aww' and tutting. Then it hits me, and my mind thinks clear again, but I don't allow myself to stop crying. I keep the image of pain at the forefront of my mind, but my thinking brain starts working again. I'm strong, and I know I'm strong. I can throw an axe from fifty feet and hit the target straight dead. I can climb a tree faster than anyone in this dump. But remember all the other years Jo. The tributes leave the weaklings until last, and they watch these reapings. You can be a weakling, for now, until you get your hand on an axe and show them what weak really is. You can win, but you have to be smart, you have to play this right. No one can know, only you. You can do this Jo just keep on crying. Make everyone pity you, just like they're doing now.

I'm rocking back and forth by the time the boy tribute has been called, really laying it on thick, thinking all sorts of horrible things I haven't thought about since five minutes after they happened, calling on every terrible memory I have. Juno starts to look uncomfortable when my sobs get louder than his microphone, he closes the ceremony quickly, and I have to be carried by a peacekeepers into the justice building, where I'm put in a room that looks like a study. I'm finally left alone, and melt into the chez lounge, smiling slightly. Everyone thinks I'm pathetic. Even my opponent, Jame something, thinks I'm weak and he can't be older than fourteen. But I'll kill him, if needs must, and everyone else in these god forsaken games if I have to.

This is the time when family come and comfort the lambs sent to the slaughter. I wait and wait, expecting nothing and getting exactly that. I'm there for an hour in silence, occasionally making sobbing sounds by the door so the peacekeepers can hear me. I need everyone to fall for this. Make everyone think I'm some pathetic loner who has no one to love her. Better off in the games, better off dead. The door clicks and for some strange second I think it's dad, waiting and sober to give me a hug and tell me it's all going to be ok. But I see a starch white sleeve and take a big snotty sniff, and rub my eyes.

"Time to go Mason." The peacekeeper says solemnly, pointing the way out with his gun. When I reach him he places a hand on my back, to play along I resist, and he sighs and carries on pushing until I'm at the train station. Idiots, I think, and have to stifle a smirk. They're falling for it.

There's a camera crew waiting to film our departure, and the boy smiles to the camera softly, and they trail him until he's boarded, then focus on me. I resist more on the peacekeeper, and he has to shove me onto the train. Before I've even steadied myself, the doors slam close, and to add to the snivelling weakling act I push my body against the glass and let the tears run down my cheeks. And we're off, but the cameras have already left me, obviously feeling uncomfortable. Good, little pricks, go film someone who gives a shit.

I spend the majority of the train ride in my carriage, which is so overly lavish I think I might break something, or dirty it by just touching it. I hate it all, the silk sheets seem to slide off me, I bounce along on the thickness of the carpet, everything is too soft and neat. I miss home a bit, wanting to feel the fresh autumn pine needles beneath my feet, smell the woody scent that everything in District 7 has. But I have a job to do, and I will see home soon. Those career bastards have no idea what's coming.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes until the next day to get to the Capitol, and I'm stuffing myself more than a Christmas turkey. Everything tastes so good, enhanced by the capitol chefs. I eat everything that's put in front of me when I'm forced to sit with Jame, Juno and our mentors Fleur and Cestro, but do it in silence, looking at the floor. Occasionally I let the tears run, knowing that the Capitol has cameras everywhere. Ill let them watch a starving community home girl eat what she's never had and will never have again in a couple of days. At least that's what they think. When I slink off back to my room I order another few courses, and indulge in deserts, anything from vanilla ice cream to a chocolate and raspberry soufflé for three. I need to get fat, put on some weight because I have no idea how to hunt, and my plant knowledge is scarce, and I doubt there'll be anything from home in that death trap they call an arena.

We get to the capitol in the early hours of the morning. Fleur has to jostle me awake, but I've been waiting for them for a while, and scream so loud in terror when they 'wake' me she jumps back startled. I have to stop myself from laughing at her face, her blue eyes are wide and her teeth are clamped together, lips stretched back like she's just tasted something horrid. For a games survivor I thought she would be a little more wary.

"I'll leave you to get dressed." She says, obviously shaken. I put on the clothes I wore when I got reaped, and shuffle to the train doors, but I can already see only a camera crew awaits our arrival, and some diehard lumber fans. But they're crying out for Jame, not me, and I just walk behind him sniffing. I meet my stylist, Lucia, who tells me I need surgery after thirty seconds of being introduced. I'm seriously offended by this woman, who has no hair except for bright green spikes on her head decreasing in size, and three cat whiskers implanted into each cheek. She doesn't even look human, looks so stupid I want to shout it at her. She wears a dress made of criss-crossing blue wires, and looks like she's being constantly electrocuted. The tears come again, and I whimper. She pats me on the head patronisingly, and ushers me into the big black contraption that's taking us to our rooms. I hear it's called a car, and can't think why they need it. They've got perfectly working legs right?

When we get to the rooms, my eyes are in so much pain I run up to my room and lock myself in there, and splash water on my face. This act is really taking it's toll, my eyes have a permanent redness around them, and I'm almost out of tears. Fuck's sake, I've still got days until I get in that arena, but I can hardly wait. I know that the cameras will never highlight me, like they did with all the other pathetic weaklings that have been in this bloodbath, until the careers find them and kill them. A lot of them actually make it to the final eight, but are killed off in less than a day. Then the careers fight it out amongst themselves.


End file.
